


Hush

by blue_jack



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loving someone should never be this hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chris couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make it worse, wouldn’t prove just how pathetic he actually was. So he did the only thing he could. He turned around and walked away and didn’t let himself look back.

\-------

It all started after the movie premiered, after Chris had jokingly admitted to having a mancrush on Karl. From then on out, the gang would always make sure to arrange themselves so Karl was forced to sit next to him whenever they went somewhere. Chris had rolled his eyes the first few times, but he’d always followed it up by waggling his eyebrows or winking or even fluttering his eyelashes depending on his mood. And Karl had always grinned and shaken his head, allowing the cast their joke but never really taking part in it.

After a while though, Chris had begun taking it for granted, knowing that he’d sit down with Karl on one side of him and Zach on the other. And it was good, relaxing to have that routine in the chaos of all the interviews and running around. Not that Karl always came out with them. He’d turn in early to call his family, or he’d complain that he was too old to go out every night, but he went out often enough that Chris began to look forward to those moments, to the feel of Karl’s shoulder against his own, to being able to turn his head and catch that endearingly goofy smile.

Chris knew he was in trouble when he realized that it wasn’t half as much fun without Karl, that instead of being a way to wind down, the outings just made him antsier, the empty spot next to him too glaring and cold.

So one day, instead of heading out to a bar with everyone else, he quietly knocked on Karl’s door and joined him in watching a movie instead. And although there was half a couch cushion between them, having Karl next to him, knowing he was there and that he was happy to have Chris around was enough.

Karl was married and had kids. It had to be enough.

But getting to know Karl better was its own reward. He was witty and sly and funny, and his humor was never at the expense of others. He was laid back but threw himself into any project he found interesting. He was down to earth and insightful and respectful and charming and easy to talk to and even easier to listen to (stupid damn sexy accent) and Chris…Chris didn’t know when he’d fallen in love with him. He just knew that he had.

So when Karl admitted to him one night after they’d both had too much to drink that he and Natalie were separating, Chris did what he had to do. He grabbed Karl in a hug and told him it would get better.

And it did. Karl stopped looking so miserable, not that anyone who wasn’t close to him would have noticed. He was an extremely private guy when it came to family, and Chris had felt a surge of gratitude and pride that Karl had confided in him. That didn’t stop Chris from getting completely smashed the next night and going home with someone though, because it also placed him very firmly in the “friend” camp, and he didn’t want to be friends with Karl. Not just friends anyway.

But that was his job apparently. And he couldn’t really complain. Not when it meant he got to spend more time with Karl. He didn’t even mind when Karl called him up unexpectedly to see if he was busy, and Chris would have to lie and cancel whatever plans he had that night because he knew what Karl was really saying was that he didn’t want to be alone.

What Chris did mind, however, was the night that Karl decided he was tired of being cooped inside and wanted to go out to a bar. Watching Karl flirt and smile while Chris sat next to him, loving him just as quietly and painfully as he’d had for the past year…well, fuck that. There were limits to what a person could take.

He blamed it on the alcohol, on the numerous drinks he’d had as Karl laughed like he hadn’t done in weeks. That was why Chris had gotten up and left the bar, heading out to his car, even though he was too drunk to drive. It wasn’t even the jealousy, because Chris was used to that, was always jealous, hated and envied every single last look or smile that Karl gave so generously to everyone else. And fuck, wasn’t that just messed up, that he could be jealous of Zach or John or Zoe because Karl was friends with them, too, and Chris wanted something that belonged just to him?

“Chris! Chris, what’s going on? You just ‘bout ran out of there. You feeling alright?”

And fucking hell, of course, Karl had followed him, because Karl was a fucking gentleman, and he worried about his friends, even though the friend in question didn’t want anything to do with him at the moment.

“No, Karl, no, I’m not feeling alright,” he said, and he laughed a little wildly, clutching his hair with one hand as he shook his head.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” Karl said, getting even closer, his eyes worried and oh so very kind. “Let me take you home—”

“Damn it, Karl,” he growled, and then he almost laughed again, because he couldn’t say those words without thinking of Bones and Jim, and now was not the time to be thinking about the movie. He took a deep breath, shoulders slumping as the anger began to just seep out of him. “I’m fine. Really. Things are just…complicated right now. I need to get my head on straight. I’ll call a cab, okay? Here,” he said, tossing his keys, somehow managing to dredge up a real smile. “I don’t want to leave you stranded. Go back to your girl. I’ll be fine.”

Karl frowned, holding the keys in his hand, but not turning around. “Chris, you’re more important to me than some girl I just met at a bar. Let me—”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair_. How could Karl say something like to him, making it so much better and worse at the same time? How could he stand there, looking the way he did, and be so cheesy and still so fucking _sincere_ that Chris knew he was going to lose it right there in the parking lot of a damn _bar_ where anyone and everyone could see them?

“I don’t want to be more important than someone you met at the bar,” he said hoarsely and pulled Karl to him, breathing heavily and nearly breaking apart. It was the alcohol’s fault. But he couldn’t deny that he’d wanted this for so very long. “I want to be more important than anyone else. Than everyone else.”

And he pressed his lips against Karl’s, closemouthed, even though Karl’s was open in surprise and he wanted nothing more than to slip his tongue inside. It was only for a second, one hand holding Karl’s upper arm while the other wound through the hair on the back of his head, keeping him in place. And then Karl was jerking back in surprise, and Chris had to let him go.

“I’m sorry,” he said, because Karl had never asked for this, for him, for any of it. But his lips burned from kissing Karl, and his apology didn’t include regret for stealing the kiss.

“Chris, I…”

“You what, Karl?” he asked, chin coming up because he couldn’t take whatever it was Karl was going to say to him without some show of bravado. At least Karl hadn’t decked him. It was a small consolation.

“I don’t…I’m not—”

It was almost painful seeing Karl, easygoing and always ready to smile Karl, so uncomfortable and at a loss for words. It wasn’t as painful, however, as Karl turning him down.

“Yeah,” Chris said, trying to hide his flinch by turning away. “I know.”

\-------

It was almost two in the afternoon before he stumbled into his house. He’d ended up calling Zach instead of a cab, and Zach had taken him home, liquored him up, hadn’t made him talk, and let him crash in his guest bedroom. Then he’d given Chris his spare house key back since Chris’ was on his key ring, which Karl still had, and dropped him off at home.

It was with considerable surprise, therefore, that he walked into his living room, only to find Karl, dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing the night before, getting up from the couch.

“Hey,” he said at last for want of anything better. And how wrong was it that even with Karl looking rumpled and tired and scraggly, even after being completely and totally shot down, that his heart still jumped at the sight of him? That Chris wanted nothing more than to kiss him again?

“Hey. I hope you don’t mind,” Karl said awkwardly, folding his arms and then dropping them to his side, “that I came over.”

“No, of course not,” Chris replied, just soaking in his presence, letting relief ease the jagged edges of his emotions. He’d been worried that Karl wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him after the whole kissing fiasco. He should’ve known better. Karl was too nice to let—

“Where…where were you?”

Chris blinked in surprise. “Ah, Zach’s. Don’t worry, Karl. I’m not going to throw myself off a bridge just because you rejected me.”

He realized what an asshole thing that was to say when Karl looked down and then back up at him.

“Fuck me,” he sighed and ran a hand across his face. “I’m sorry. This has not been…one of my shining moments, I’m afraid. I was drunk, Karl. I would never…I wasn’t planning on ever saying anything. Can we just…pretend the whole thing never happened? I don’t—I don’t want to lose this,” he said, gesturing between them. “You’re one of my best friends, and I don’t want to have fucked this up because I couldn’t keep my damned mouth shut.”

“Nothing…nothing is messed up,” he said, trying to smile, and Chris almost closed his eyes at the falseness of it.

“Okay,” he whispered, nodding jerkily. “Okay.”

\------

It was a couple of weeks before he saw Karl again. Chris had gone out of town for a job, and sometimes, he was grateful for his hectic life that called for all kinds of travel, and when he got back, he texted a couple of friends to see if anything happening, just like he always did.

_Glad you’re back. Want to come over tonight?_

He stared at the seemingly innocuous words. He’d emailed Karl a few times while he’d been gone, but Karl’s responses had been short and vague. He hadn’t expected much from him, not after the way they’d left things, but it still kind of hurt, and it didn’t stop him from reading those emails again and again.

He didn’t know what Karl was doing, and his fingers felt strangely leaden as he typed back his reply. _Sure. What time?_

\-------

Dinner was awkward. Oh, so very awkward. But Chris got through it, and he was happier than he’d been in weeks, because they were trying. Fuck, they were trying, and that meant Karl wasn’t ready to push him out of his life just yet after all.

Afterwards, it was drinking and watching a movie on the couch, and even though it wasn’t as comfortable as it used to be, Chris was okay with that, because it was right, it always felt right when Karl was next to him.

It was completely shocking, however, when Karl leaned over and kissed him.

“Wha—”

Soft lips, scratchy stubble, the barest hint of cologne, and the taste of beer and chicken on his tongue.

“Karl,” he whispered, and he didn’t care, he didn’t care what was going on, why Karl was doing it. All he cared about was getting closer, diving into what was being offered and taking what he could while he could. “Karl.”

“Shh. Shh…”

\-----

He woke up alone the next morning. Karl wasn’t in the shower or the kitchen or anywhere else. There was a note though.

_I’m sorry about last night._

And he’d been wrong, because it did matter, it fucking mattered _why_ Karl had wanted him last night, and Chris wished he was hung over, just so he could have an excuse for wanting to throw up.

\------

This time, it was Karl who emailed him, and Chris was the one shooting back one or two lines of text that said nothing at all. They hadn’t talked face to face since that day, and Chris, for once, was glad about that fact. He was back onsite, and Karl couldn’t even accuse him of avoiding him since he wasn’t even in the same city to be avoided.

He was no stranger to one night stands. They weren’t his thing in general, but he’d had his fair share. But he’d thought…after that night at the bar, he’d thought…

Fuck Karl for the whole damn thing and for that fucking note, which was sitting, crumpled and torn from being handled too frequently, in his wallet.

Just…fuck.

\-----

They never did talk about it.

It was a party next time. Karl walked in long after Chris had already started the fall into torrid drunkenness, but he tried to catch up as fast as he could, taking shot after shot as he watched Chris.

They staggered into the men’s bathroom, where Karl pushed Chris to his knees, returning the favor before he’d even recovered, still shuddering, moaning around Chris’ cock like it had been Chris denying him and not the other way around.

Even drunk, Chris could see the plea in his eyes afterwards as they fumbled with their clothes. _Don’t say anything. Pretend that we’re both too wasted to realize what we’re doing._

It wasn’t much better than the note really.

After the fifth time—and yeah, Chris was keeping count, relived every drunk encounter in the dead of the night when he was alone and wondering what the fuck he was doing—Zach came up to him and asked, “What’s going on with you and Karl?”

“Nothing,” he replied. And it was the truth. He and Karl didn’t call each other anymore to hang out or catch a game. They only saw each other at places where the alcohol flowed freely and there was no chance they’d wake up together in bed, sober and unable to hide.

“Chris—”

“Leave it alone, Zach. Trust me on this. There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t said to myself already.”

“Chris, this isn’t—”

“I know,” he said, and he did. Nothing good was going to come of it. He was so fucking screwed that it was almost laughable. But he had Karl, even if it was just a piece of him. And he couldn’t force himself to give that up.

\-------

“Chris. I’ve been,” he stopped and swallowed. “I’ve been talking to Natalie. She wants us to get back together.”

He stared, because that wasn’t…that wasn’t what Karl was supposed to say. That didn’t follow their script, and Chris was already buzzed, and the music was deafening, and Karl had shown up late, just like he always did, and that wasn’t what he was supposed to say, and why the fuck were his words so loud when the song should’ve drowned them out?

He wanted to ask Karl to repeat himself, just in case he’d misunderstood, but at the same time, he didn’t want to hear it again.

It was stupid to feel betrayed. Karl had never made any promises. Hell, they hadn’t talk about it at all. And Chris had always known what Karl wanted from him. So it didn’t make sense to feel like this.

But he did. And it was like he couldn’t breathe, like something was squeezing his chest so hard that he could feel his heart oozing out the sides.

Fuck. _Fuck._

Chris looked at Karl and tried to think of something to say, tried to smile or shrug or fucking hell, do _something_ because he hadn’t realized how much he counted on whatever the hell it was between them, but he did, and Karl was taking that from him, and Chris had thought he’d at least have this, no matter what, that he’d at least have this.

But he couldn’t, couldn’t think of anything, couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t make it worse, wouldn’t prove just how pathetic he actually was. So he did the only thing he could. He turned around and walked away and didn’t let himself look back.


	2. Chapter 2

It shouldn’t be this hard.

That was what Karl thought as he watched Chris walk away, the betrayed, shattered look in his eyes trapping him where he stood.

It shouldn’t be this hard to see Chris’ back, shouldn’t be this hard to decide what he wanted, shouldn’t be this hard to look at himself in the mirror anymore.

It should never have happened.

 _How_ had it happened? How had he and Natalie grown apart? When had it gotten easier to talk to his friends than his wife? When had he started looking forward to seeing Chris more than seeing his family?

He didn’t need to ask when everything had gone to hell. It had been the kiss, that damn kiss in the parking lot of the bar. That had been when he’d realized what he wanted.

He still hadn’t quite forgiven Chris for it.

He hadn’t even known Chris was gay. Or bi. Or whatever the hell he was. He’d always seen Chris with women hanging off of him, whispering in his ear, laughing coyly and pressing their curves against him as he responded, pulling them even closer, welcoming their advances. Karl had known—had _known_ —that Chris was straight.

He’d never cheated on Natalie, not once, and while he looked sometimes, well, everyone looked, but he’d meant his vows, and that hadn’t changed, no matter how much time had gone by. So, sure, he’d noticed Chris with his fucking almost creepily gorgeous blue eyes and ready, honest smile, but Chris had been doubly safe to spend time with because Karl was married, and Chris was straight.

Karl wanted to think that he’d been as devoted in his heart as he’d been in his mind, that he’d never led Chris on, that he’d never flirted or been open with appreciative looks or curious glances. He wanted to think that he was blameless, that it was all Chris’ fault that they had even gotten to . . . wherever it was they were, because if he’d never opened that door, if Chris had just continued to be a good friend instead of showing he’d wanted something more, then Karl could have gone back to his life with a minimum of regrets.

It was what he wanted to think.

But he wasn’t so sure.

Natalie had told him that he checked out of their marriage a long time before she’d asked for the separation. At the time, he hadn’t understood, because hadn’t he always come back to her, to their family? Hadn’t he always called from wherever he was and bought presents for her and the kids and gone to the house in between movies and done everything he was supposed to do? Hadn’t he?

It took months before he’d realized that he’d done everything he’d been supposed to do, but he’d rarely done anything he’d wanted to do. Not with the kids, of course. He loved them and always would. But with her. Everything had been mechanical, the calls, the visits, the kisses, the sex. One more role, pleasant, routine, perfunctory. And the only reason he’d even recognized the truth was because his life with Chris was anything but.

Karl had never felt so alive off the set, and didn’t that make a whole bunch of sense? How could he pour so much time, emotion and attention into his _job_ , and not into his family? 

But with Chris—fuck, with Chris he laughed and felt ridiculously young and was free. Free, and what did that even mean considering he still had all the same obligations? But they just didn’t weigh him down the same way when Chris was there to cheer him up.

And then . . . and then Chris had to bloody ruin it with that _stupid_ kiss. 

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Not only that it had happened—and he could at least swear that he hadn’t expected it, that whatever other sins he would have to admit to, he really, truly hadn’t known—but that he’d felt _cheated_. It had happened so quickly, the briefest impression of lips against his own, soft but firm, a rasp of stubble, a puff of breath, and then he’d pulled back before he’d even processed that Chris had kissed him. 

Chris hadn’t . . . and then he’d been gone, leaving Karl standing alone, mind scattered, heart refusing to calm, and over the surprise, over the guilt which had been present even though the lawyers were getting the divorce papers ready, the guilt that he’d felt stronger than when he’d been flirting with the girl in the bar, over all of that had been one thought: Karl hadn’t even tasted him. But he’d wanted to. He’d licked his lips over and over again, obsessively trying to find even the barest trace of that single kiss—because that’s all there would ever be. 

Nothing.

And that had . . . fuck, that had hardly been fair. All the guilt and worry and the weirdness in their friendship—hell, he hadn’t even been able to email Chris without burning all over—and he hadn’t even gotten one taste.

But once hadn’t been enough.

Like molasses, thick and dark and rich and sweet, Chris’ taste had lingered in his mouth, no matter what else Karl ate, no matter how many times he’d brushed his teeth. Chris’ scent had clung to his skin, the memory of his hands like phantom touches that Karl could feel for days and days afterward. He’d masturbated more in the week after Chris had left his house then he’d had in the months since Natalie had asked him to leave, all to the memory of pale skin that bruised beneath his clumsy hands, hard muscles that fought and slammed against him as they took and yielded control, an eager mouth and grateful moans.

Fuck. Karl ran a shaky hand over his face. Chris was getting further and further away while he stood there. Frozen. 

The look in his eyes . . . .

He hadn’t meant to make Chris into his dirty little secret. He’d swear on everything he believed in that he hadn’t. It had somehow managed to happen anyway though. Quick fucks in bathrooms or places where someone could walk in on them at any moment, always pretending to be drunker than he actually was, never saying anything or letting Chris say anything either. And why? For what?

And then sometime during it all, Natalie had called. She had called while her lawyers were talking to his lawyers, and it had been . . . nice. Comforting. Familiar and safe. She hadn’t asked him if he was seeing anyone, and he hadn’t volunteered the information because he hadn’t understood why she was calling in the first place. And besides, he didn’t know how he’d describe whatever it was that he had with Chris, even now. Hell, especially now.

She’d called, and it had been suddenly so easy to talk to her, to say what was on his mind, to laugh about nothing and hear stories about the kids and not have to think about what the hell his life was becoming. And what the hell did that say about him that he always seemed to run from the person he was with?

He hadn’t told Chris about it. No surprise there since he hadn’t said much to Chris at all recently.

Fuck. What was he doing?

His eyes just now . . . his fucking eyes.

“Chris!” Karl shoved his way past the dancers, trying to reach Chris before he left the club. “Get out of the way!” he snarled, furious suddenly because _what the hell was he doing_? Chris was his friend, fuck, more than a friend, and he was losing him! And why? Because he was scared? Because he’d already fucked up one relationship that was supposed to have lasted forever?

No. Not even that. Not even something as cowardly but understandable as that.

He was going to lose him because Karl had been free, truly free for the first time in almost ten years, and he hadn’t wanted to give that up. Not for Chris. Not for anyone. Not when he could have it all without even trying.

Except it wasn’t worth it when Chris was walking away from him, and from the look in his eyes just now, had no intention of coming back. It wasn’t freedom then. It was just . . . being alone. 

He ignored the curses as he moved forward, realizing from the flashes that there was a big chance this was going to be posted somewhere but not giving a damn. “Chris!”

But Chris was already gone by the time he got out the doors, and he didn’t answer his phone the first or the third time Karl called.

 _I told her no_ , he texted, wanting to tell Chris the words he should have told him in the club, needing to tell him. Bloody hell, it had just felt so good to know how much Chris wanted him, had been a balm to his crushed ego, had been a drug he couldn’t refuse. He hadn’t meant to let it get that far though. Not any of it. But Chris would understand. He’d explain, and Chris would understand.

Karl stood outside a long time, waiting for Chris to respond. But Chris never called him back.


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you want, Karl?”

Karl toyed with the change in his pocket, unnerved by his welcome. When Chris hadn’t called back, he’d decided to go to Chris’ house, wondering if Chris had lost his phone, or if he just hadn’t heard it. He’d considered the idea that Chris was avoiding him, but he hadn’t believed it. Chris . . . Chris was always there for him.

“I wanted . . . did you—did you get my text?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Karl’s eyes narrowed. What the hell was that? He was trying, he was fucking _trying_ , and Chris was standing there, blocking the door, acting as if he wanted nothing more than for Karl to leave.

“What’s with the games, Pine?”

“ _Don’t_ talk to me about games, _Karl_!” Chris snarled, the first stirrings of anger creeping over the blank expression he’d been wearing. “I’m fucking sick of them.”

“This isn’t a game!”

“Fuck. You.”

Karl growled and shoved Chris back, taking advantage of his stagger to slip in the door.

“Get the fuck out of my house!”

“Not until you hear me out!” Karl stumbled backwards when Chris pushed him, but he held onto the door jamb and refused to give up ground. “Are we really doing this here? ‘Cause the Paps are going to have a field day.”

Chris’ jaw tensed, and Karl could see his fists clench as if he wanted nothing more than to force Karl out, one way or another, but then Chris cursed and walked into his living room, shoulders stiff and back ramrod straight.

Karl let out a deep breath, closing the door softly behind him. He’d never seen Chris so angry, at least, not at him, and it was almost disorienting, like his world was off-kilter. He didn’t know if was better or worse than the careful nothing that had initially greeted him when Chris had opened the door.

He followed Chris, unsure if he should keep his distance or try to get closer, his own anger fading in the face of his uncertainty. He didn’t know what he’d expected, maybe for Chris to be surprised or to throw himself into his arms or to be drunk and acting as if nothing had changed, because nothing _had changed_ , because if he’d kept silent and not told Chris Natalie wanted him back, then they’d probably be fucking in the men’s room right about now. Hell, maybe he’d thought Chris would be happy. He didn’t know what he’d expected. But it definitely hadn’t been this.

“Look, I fucked up, okay?” He ran a heavy hand over the lower half of his face. Chris stood with his arms folded across his chest, still dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing at the club. It was just a button-down shirt and slacks, but the shirt brought out the color of his eyes—fuck, like everything did it seemed—the buttons undone low enough that Karl could see his collarbone and the beginning of pale chest.

Hell, Chris was fucking _beautiful_ , glaring at him, angry and closed off, and Karl didn’t understand why Chris had let him touch him in the first place. He had to close his eyes, just so tired, fucking exhausted, fed up with the hiding and the arguing and most of all, with himself.

Even though Chris was standing, he sat down on the couch, drained, leaned forward and hid his face in his hands because he’d never been good at this sort of thing. He was great at being the “friend,” great at listening and offering his pearls of wisdom and being there when someone needed a shoulder to cry on. But he was bloody useless when it came to talking about his own feelings.

“You fucked up?” The scorn was plain in Chris’ voice. “I think you did just fine actually, Karl. You got exactly what you wanted, didn’t you? Someone who shut up and took it and helped you during your dry spell—”

“It wasn’t like that!” Karl found himself standing and inches from Chris’ face. “You’re one of my best friends, Chris! Damn it, I know what this looks like, but I fucking cared— _care_ about—”

“I don’t know which is worse.” He had never seen Chris’ eyes look so cold. “You thinking I would believe that, or you believing it yourself.”

Karl had to move away, because the sudden desire to hurt Chris was almost overwhelming. “I never lied to you. About anything. So don’t—”

“You didn’t tell me you were still talking to Natalie!” And for the first time, Karl could actually hear the pain, Chris’ voice breaking the tiniest fraction. He turned his head to look at him, and if anything, Chris’ expression was even more furious than it had been before, but there’d been no mistaking the sound.

“She’s the mother of my kids, Chris,” he said as gently as he could.

“And _I_ apparently am one of your fucking _best friends._ ”

The silence was so thick Karl wondered if he could choke on it.

“Why are you so mad at me? I told you I said no—”

“After I’d already fucking left!” Chris started pacing, pulling at his hair as he tried to find some outlet for his frustration. “You could have told me that while I was _standing in front of you_. You knew how it sounded. You knew what I was going to think. And instead of—you could have—you know how I feel . . . damn it, Karl,” he whispered, stopping and shaking his head. He let out a long breath, and Karl had the sudden morbid thought that it sounded like a death rattle, hoarse and shaky and defeated. “You could have told me you didn’t want to be with her, because you wanted to be with me.” The sound that Chris made was supposed to be a laugh, but it was filled with more despair than amusement.

“Chris,” he tried, and this time it was his voice that was breaking.

“Fuck, you just . . . you took it all away from me, Karl, and you didn’t even know or give a damn that you were doing it.”

“No,” he said, and his hands were reaching out, because that wasn’t why, he hadn’t meant for that to happen, and fuck, he hadn’t had a chance to explain yet. Chris didn’t understand. He had never wanted to hurt Chris like that. _Never_. And if he would just _listen_. . . “Chris, I—”

“Get out of here, Karl. I can’t talk to you right now.”

“Chris.” It was a whisper, a plea, a regret. “Chris.” A promise.

But Chris was already moving towards the front door, and Karl found himself helplessly following, feeling lost.

“What do you want me to do, Chris?” Karl demanded desperately as he stood outside once again, slapping a hand against the door to keep it from closing. There had to be a way to fix things. There had to be.

Chris sighed, looking away. “Do whatever you want, Karl. You’re good at that.”

The sound of the door closing was loud. Abrupt. Final.

\-----

It was almost a month later before Karl saw Chris again.

He’d made his way back to Chris’ house the next morning, filled with a sense of purpose that had been absent from his life for a long time. He’d been determined to see it through and not let Chris kick him out until he’d heard every last word. But Chris had been gone.

He’d called all the likely suspects, but everyone had claimed to have no idea where he was, and even calling Zach in New York hadn’t turned up anything. Karl had known Chris was still traveling for work, so he’d gritted his teeth, waiting for the weekend, confident that Chris couldn’t avoid him forever.

Except the weekend had come and gone, and Chris had still been absent. As he’d been the weekend after that. And the weekend after that.

Karl had tried calling, leaving long, rambling messages on Chris’ voicemail, telling him all the things Chris wouldn’t allow him to say face to face. That he was sorry. That he was a messed up bastard with too many issues and not enough courage to accept what was right in front of his face. That he’d thought he wanted freedom, but it was just a different set of bars when Chris wasn’t with him. That if Chris would give him just one more chance, he’d make it up to him somehow.

That he missed him.

That he loved him.

He’d finally gotten a text back from Chris that day. _Stop it, Karl._ He’d wondered if that was how Chris had felt, rejected and alone, hollow inside like something had been gouged out of him.

He’d kept calling, but the messages had gotten shorter and more time went by between each one.

The day the divorce went through, he found himself staring at the papers in his hand, his voice shaky as he spoke into empty silence once more. “I know I have no right to ask this. It’s just . . . I could really use my best friend’s support right about now. It was the right thing to do, and I don’t regret it, but . . . Chris, please come back.”

\-----

“You look like shit, Karl,” Chris said as he stood at Karl’s door, one bag slung over his shoulder, another at his feet.

“Chris,” he managed to rasp out, throat dry from too much alcohol and utter shock.

“Well,” Chris frowned, shifting his bag to a more comfortable position. His eyes were guarded, but he was there. He was there. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Karl pulled him forward, bag and all, clutching too tightly but unwilling to let go. He pressed his cheek to Chris’ and held on even harder.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.” Karl felt the sigh that lifted Chris’ chest and wondered if Chris could likewise feel his unsteady breaths. “Me, too.”

“I missed you,” Karl whispered and had to swallow, his arms trembling from the force of his embrace, his heart aching as it began to beat for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“I . . .” He buried his face in Chris’ neck when he felt arms come around him, holding on to him tentatively at first and then enfolding him just as fiercely. “I missed you, too.”


End file.
